


Long Way Down

by witchpointe



Category: VIXX
Genre: Alternate Universe - Demon Hunters, Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, M/M, Past Drug Addiction, Past Drug Use, and taekwoon is of course the demon, because that is my Brand, hakyeon and sanghyuk are human, hongbin and jaehwan are elves, this is a neo fic--the chasang is past, wonshik is a dwarf (but dwarves aren't tiny with beards i promise)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-15
Updated: 2020-09-09
Packaged: 2020-12-17 03:35:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21047636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/witchpointe/pseuds/witchpointe
Summary: Demonslayer Hakyeon has been taught that to love is to be weak; to be weak, is to be dead. He vowed never to feel anything for anyone after the death of Sanghyuk. All of this is challenged by a fledgling demon named Taekwoon that wanders into his territory, looking for help, speaking the name of his old lover.





	1. Chapter 1

There's a laundromat on 6th Street with an elevator inside. If you take it to the basement you'd notice that it's not a basement at all but a maze of cold, dark, brick-laden left and right turns. The correct route to the demonslayer base is left, left, left, right, left, right, right, left, right, left. The inconspicuous heavy metal door is left completely unguarded, and if you are to gain entrance, you must speak the words, "This horror will grow mild, this darkness light."

Hakyeon hasn't been here in months. He is here for the same reason as last time--the commander has called him specifically.

It's cold, always so cold down here. Hakyeon bows his head in greeting to a passerby--a new recruit it seems--and shivers from the cold.

The main room is the largest and busiest in the base. The lighting is kept low and reminds Hakyeon of gas lamps. To the left, a bar sits a dozen slayers on aged wooden stools. Behind the counter a widescreen tv plays a mindless action movie as the bartender serves alcohol and other, less magically mundane types of psychoactive drugs. There's a staircase to the right past the pool tables that leads down to the dorms.

On the right sprawls out many different sitting areas, managing to look homely with plush couches and leather recliners, but always giving Hakyeon the feel of a college dorm and waiting room at the same time. The stairs down this way lead to the gym and the cafeteria.

Unfortunately Hakyeon's destination today is straight ahead, down the hall toward management. Crossing through the common area, he passes the heavy doors of those in charge, black letters imprinted on glass like they mean more than any of the others right outside. He stops at the final door with the biggest imprinted name: Lee Jaehwan.

Knocking twice, he doesn’t wait for permission before he slips inside.

Jaehwan’s “office” is always sobering. There’s a fire in the hearth that would be welcoming but for the sedated demonoid chained to the wall next to it. There are a pair of tan leather couches that face each other backed by weapon racks, home to anything with a bladed edge. To Hakyeon’s left is a wall of bookshelves, sporting not books but pots and bottles of different types of drugs and blood, and god knows what else. All of this encased in the same dark brick as the outside and lit by the same dim lighting.

Jaehwan stands over the chained demonoid with bloody swords ready, panting slightly.

“Am I interrupting?” Hakyeon asks, running his fingers over the statue of a gargoyle on his way to the couches.

“Oh, please,” Jaehwan says sarcastically. “Won’t you come in?”

Jaehwan wipes his swords on the demonoid’s ripped clothing and sheathes them at his sides. The demonoid groans and hangs its head, making a choked gurgling sound when Jaehwan tightens the chains across its neck. He pads over to the shelves and pours violet liquid--fairy blood, if Hakyeon had to guess--from a crystal decanter into a glass.

“Would you like a drink?”

Hakyeon shakes his head. “Nothing from you.”

Jaehwan’s ears twitch. The elf does it when he’s annoyed. “That’s right. You prefer angelwing, don’t you?”

That’s particularly low. Jaehwan knows he hasn’t touched the stuff in over a year. 

“Did you call me here to insult me?”

“No,” Jaehwan sighs, sitting on the couch opposite, one booted foot over his knee. “As fun as it is.”

Hakyeon watches Jaehwan gulp his drink and lean his head back, baring his neck. His adam's apple bobs and he groans softly, an appreciative sound. He raises his head again and smiles, lips edged with purple. It reminds Hakyeon, for a flash of a moment, of their initiation, of the image of scared initiate Jaehwan drinking from the demonslayer chalice. Against his will, Hakyeon softens for his old friend.

“Why, then?”

“I have a favor to ask of you.”

A favor. Jaehwan’s favors aren’t optional; they’re orders. And they’re usually not so much fun as killing demons.

Hakyeon squints. “What is it?”

“If you had been doing your weekly check ins--” another sip, “--hell, if you’d even do monthly check-ins, you’d know that we have our first set of recruits in a very long time. No one wants to be a hunter anymore. Not that many ever did. But you know, it’s hard enough for civilians to even walk somewhere anymore. Everyone’s scared. Too scared to do anything about it.”

Hakyeon raises his eyebrows. “I thought the demon population was down.”

“Not demons, just people. They’re crueller to each other than demons ever were.” Jaehwan’s foot begins to jiggle against his knee. “But that makes this bunch of recruits important to me. I can’t lose a single one of them, not to fear, or self-doubt, or drugs. That’s what gets them killed, not the monsters.”

The demonoid chained against the wall groans again. Hakyeon feels much the same way listening to Jaehwan drone on. Being talkative is a habit they supposedly share, but well, Hakyeon likes to think the things he chooses to say are always important.

“What does this have to do with me?” Hakyeon asks, adjusting the silver bracelet on his arm.

“You know… you've lost your confidence, Hakyeon. In yourself as a leader, in the cause.”

Oh, gods. Here we go again.

“I don’t need to be up your ass to do my job, Jaehwan. And I don’t need to believe in the cause to do it better than most.”

Jaehwan drains his cup and sets it on the ground. He stares at Hakyeon for a few lingering moments before he talks. “Fuck if that isn’t true. I wish it weren’t. Then you’d have to listen to me.”

“What do you  _ want _ ?”

“I’ve got a recruit that I need you to train.”

“No.” A cold shiver runs through Hakyeon’s body and he grips the leather beside his thighs. “Absolutely not. It’s too soon.”

“It’s been over a year--”

“Does that seem like it’s been a long time for you, Jaehwan? Because it hasn’t been for me.”

Jaehwan runs his hand across his forehead, rubs his fingers at his temple. He lifts himself from the couch, scooping up his glass and returning it to the bookshelves. Hakyeon knows he’s difficult. He admits it. But he doesn’t think this is too much to refuse. He hasn't healed yet, he hasn’t had enough time… and granted, some of that might be his fault. He hasn’t reached out. Hasn’t talked to anyone. But he isn’t ready. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever be ready to pretend that nothing happened, to move on like it couldn’t happen again--

“There are three reasons you’re going to do this for me, Hakyeon.” Jaehwan speaks to him, but he’s facing a large oval hanging mirror, adjusting his collar, his hair. “The first and most appealing to you, if you still have a heart in there somewhere, is that he’s fucked up from the ritual, just like you were. Second, you’ve been faltering in your weekly check-ins since the incident and I have enough evidence to have you blacklisted. But most importantly, you’re going to do it because you owe it to Sanghyuk.”

Hakyeon’s head snaps up from his lap to glare at Jaehwan. Anger heats his stomach, rushes up his spine. His hands clench into fists.

“Don’t invoke his name like that,” Hakyeon spits at him.

“You’re angry because it’s true.” Jaehwan turns to face him. “Come, I’ll introduce you. Then you can decide if disobeying me is worth throwing your career away.”

Hakyeon follows Jaehwan out of his office, head down and lost in past memories. Memories of Sanghyuk. The way his chestnut hair fell into his eyes as his large frame danced with his daggers, so quick and smooth for someone his size. His pout when he wanted to forego training to spend the day outside in the sun instead of in the dark depths of the slayer base. The way his nose sometimes got in the way when Hakyeon would try to kiss him. 

He doesn’t look up again until they enter the dorms. It’s quiet this time of night, and Jaehwan leads him down the long tiled corridor with everyone they come across bowing their respect to their leader.

Jaehwan halts at door number 62, the old, scratched placard reading the names of two recruits Hakyeon doesn’t recognize. He raps on the door with his knuckles then steps backward, holding his hands behind his back. He looks imposing suddenly, and Hakyeon marvels at the way he can turn it on and off like the press of a button.

Hakyeon leans against the door frame and waits with a bitter taste in his mouth. No one can replace Sanghyuk.

The door opens only enough for an elven kid to stick the side of his body out. He's skinny, too skinny, his large clothes hanging off his wide shoulders, and his brown curly hair is wild, like he’d just been sleeping. His doe eyes go even bigger at the sight of Jaehwan.

“Yes-- _ oh my god _ , Commander.”

The door slams in Jaehwan's face. 

"Just one minute," the kid calls from inside.

A commotion of noise can be heard from inside, drawers opening and shutting, the rustle of fabric.

Jaehwan turns his head to force a smile at Hakyeon. “That was your new recruit.”

“ _ That _ was him? Is he even old enough to be here?”

“He’s of age of consent for the ritual, I assure you.”

“So he’s  _ exactly  _ twenty-one.”

Jaehwan shrugs.

“I cannot believe you,” Hakyeon whispers harshly. “We’re hiring children now?”

“ _ We’re _ not doing anything, Hakyeon,” Jaehwan spits back. With a single hand he pushes Hakyeon’s shoulder back into the doorframe, pinning him there. “I think you need to remember who’s in charge.”

The door opens again, fully this time, and the kid looks between the two of them. Jaehwan stands straight again.. Hakyeon reaches for his shoulder to massage it. The kid moves awkwardly to the side, looks down to the floor. “Hello Commander. Please come in.”

“I’m afraid I’m not staying,” says Jaehwan, smile broad. He looks every inch the picture of exemplary decorated leader. Hakyeon holds back a snicker. He has plenty of stories to contradict that. 

“I’ve simply come to introduce your mentor. Hongbin, this is Hakyeon. He is a five-star slayer. You’re going to be in good hands.”

Jaehwan bows deeply and then disappears the way he came, leaving Hakyeon standing in the hallway staring at the elf. 

Hakyeon sighs. He was hoping to spend his night off half-asleep in front of the TV, not making awkward small talk with a child. Hongbin is looking at him with clear suspicion; his eyes are narrowed into slivered moons that make his face look sharp and wild.

“You should come in, I guess,” Hongbin says.

“I guess,” Hakyeon repeats, and, turning sideways, moves past him into the dorm room.

The room looks clean--a lie, he guesses, from the commotion earlier--but still smells like dirty laundry and sweat. There are two cots on either side of the wall with a chest of drawers at their feet, and a desk right before him on the far wall, the layout unchanged from when he was a recruit himself. The sheets are white, the drawers are white, the desk is white, the walls are blank; everything is stark and unfeeling. Oh, how he hated it.

He reaches the peeling desk chair and sits, turning it to face Hongbin who perches himself on the edge of his cot, covers hastily pulled up to impersonate a carefully made bed. Hongbin stares at his hands; his hands which are small and soft and have likely never been in a real fight, have definitely never killed anyone, not yet.

“Where are you from?” Hakyeon asks.

“Does it matter?”

If Hakyeon were less intuitive about people he might have read this as combative; it’s not. It’s only that really--it doesn’t matter. It seems Hongbin is as aversive to small talk as Hakyeon is, but Hakyeon is sure he’s not ready for the big talks they’re going to have to have.

“I suppose it doesn’t,” Hakyeon says, bleeding patience, picking at the back of the chair. “Only that I can tell you’re not from a city half as big as this one and it must be overwhelming for now.”

Hongbin blinks up at him. Flashes of emotion cross his face. Yeah, he’s going to have to learn to mask that, and quick.

Hongbin snorts. “What are you, my mother?”

“I’m your mentor.”

“You’re my trainer.”

“I’m your mentor,” Hakyeon repeats, mustering up more of that patience he’s known for being so good at. “It’s a lot more than training.”

“Not everyone has mentors, do they?” Hongbin asks in a small voice. He pushes his hair behind his ears and looks like he’s far away, remembering something, reliving something.

“No.”

“The Commander made you my mentor because of what I did at initiation, didn’t he?”

“As far as I can tell, yes.” Hakyeon bites his lip. He stares at Hongbin for a beat, wondering if he should share any of his own experiences. No, no it’s too soon. “The Commander didn’t tell me what happened at your initiation. I’m hoping that with time, you’ll be willing to share it with me on your own.”

“I want you to go away now,” Hongbin says, his voice hard.

“I’ll leave,” Hakyeon says. He lifts from his chair and walks over to Hongbin, holding out his card. It’s a simple thing, black and white, an ornamental bull with large horns above his phone number. No name. Names are dangerous. “But your training doesn’t wait. What is your weapon?”

Hongbin presses his palms to his cheeks and takes a deep breath. “Shotgun.”

Hakyeon scoffs. “Guns. The new generation is afraid to get their hands dirty.”

Hongbin looks up at him with his brow furrowed, but he looks more confused than offended. He looks--kind of cute. Hakyeon does not want to admit that he already has the desire to ruffle his new trainee's hair. God damn Jaehwan. He knew this would happen. He knew how Hakyeon works.

“Monday night, your first lesson,” Hakyeon says, keeping his hands to himself. “I’ll make the arrangements and get in touch with you. Call me if you need me for anything else.”

Hakyeon is almost out the door before Hongbin calls after him, “Like what?”

Stopping in the doorway, he merely shrugs his shoulders and leaves without a word.

( * )

The streets are dark where they don't shine neon, and drip with residual rain, heavy with clumps of people happy to be outside after the week-long downpour. Elves mostly line the streets this far north, dressed in their finest--which isn’t that impressive--hair coiled and coiffed just so, looking down their noses at Hakyeon as he walks past.

He stops at a street corner, punches the button to cross the street. Next to him a grotesque ogre dances with a sign for a restaurant: Tully's Fish N' Chips. Flipping the sign in the air, he spins and catches it again.

Hakyeon clutches his denim jacket around his cold, exposed throat. The sign changes. He waits for the black Mercedes that ran the light to pass before jogging lightly across the street.

Entering the run-down Shop Mart, Hakyeon travels the well-known path from the bread to the milk, opening the refrigerator door to pluck out his drink.

Just then a dwarf circles behind him, a wild thing with a black mohawk and piercings. His shirt sports some band Hakyeon has never heard of and his hands are covered in rings.

"Nice metal," says the dwarf.

Hakyeon fingers the hilt of his zweihander perched across his back, affectionately and appropriately named Lifedrinker.

"Thank you," says Hakyeon, uncomfortable that the dwarf seems interested in staying and talking. In the cold aisle, of all places.

"Dwarven made?"

"I wouldn't use anything else," Hakyeon says, smiling when he thinks of Wonshik.

The dwarf slaps Hakyeon on the back, tumbling him forward a few steps. "Good, good. Thanks for keeping us safe, yeah?"

"Yeah," Hakyeon repeats, nodding his goodbye.

Oh, how Hakyeon hates these encounters. The ones that make him out to be a hero, a martyr. A good person. He isn't any of these things.

Defeated, Hakyeon walks past the colorful food that calls to him, putting his groceries on the scratched up black belt. It's then that he smells it: the faintest scent of fire and ash, mixed with a sinister scent all its own: the scent of Hell.

The demon isn't close enough for the rest of his body to react. He sniffs the air again, getting a strange look from the woman in front of him in line. There's more than one demon: two animalistic, one demonoid.

He should do the right thing. The right thing is to not approach three demons by oneself. Hakyeon, however, rarely does the right thing when demons are involved.

Leaving his food behind, Hakyeon walks through the automatic doors with a  _ bing _ . The scent leads him further south, past a 24-hour pharmacy and a cafe, when his blood begins to roil. Inflamed, his body feels larger and stronger with every step he takes. His fingers and toes prickle with stabs of extreme heat.

Down another street and around the corner and he stops. At the end of this alleyway, two hellhounds bark and scratch at a trash bin, sniffing heavily and whining. Their thick claws scratch at the green metal as they try to gain purchase and fail. Their prey, a blonde demonoid, sits atop the bin hugging his legs, clumsily wielding a dagger, and looking lost.

Hakyeon draws Lifedrinker, takes a wide-legged stance at the mouth of the alleyway and points the tip toward the three of them. The only one that notices is the demonoid. Lifting his head, the demonoid looks toward Hakyeon and hugs his legs tighter, and Hakyeon could swear he hears a whine.

A few steps into the alley and the hounds turn to face him. They sniff the air and snarl, thick strands of saliva dripping to the tarmac and sizzling upon contact. Empty eye sockets seem to stare right through to his soul. Tails on fire thrash like bullwhips.

Hakyeon decides the one on the left will be his first victim. Its muscles ripple under the short, auburn fur as it growls. It knows Hakyeon isn't quite human, is affected in some subtle, dangerous way. It can smell it.

Hakyeon smells singed hair as the hounds dive for him. It's all too easy for him to pivot and jab, impaling the first hound on Lifedrinker from mouth to tail while dodging the other. The whimper it gives is loud and pitiful.

Lifedrinker's magic surges to life, racing up the veins of Hakyeon's arms. He feels powerful, invincible, a thrill to the soles of his feet as the hound's life force rushes into his body, too much energy for one body to hold. Shaking, panting, he spins toward the other hound and brings Lifedrinker down through its skull, directing the life force back out of his body and through the hound. The body glows a neon turquoise for a moment before it splinters and disintegrates.

It's overkill for a couple of hellhounds, but damn does it feel good. He’s been moping, hiding; he hasn’t had a fight in weeks.

His head snaps toward the last enemy. The demonoid has crawled down from the dumpster with his head held low, strands of yellow hair fallen in his face. Through them, Hakyeon can make out dark, feline eyes that glint amber in the grimy street light. His hands are outstretched, dirty fingers splayed and shaking.

"Please. Don't hurt me."

The voice is wispy, ethereal; it should belong to an angel, not a demon. What makes Hakyeon straighten and lie Lifedrinker across his shoulder is not the tone of the voice, but rather what it has chosen to say. Adrenaline and demon slayer magic still rush through him, commanding him to gut this demon and be done with it. But Hakyeon has never met a timid demonoid, one that didn't  _ want _ him to know how it planned to eat his heart and gnaw on his bones. If this is a trick, it's a new and strange angle for demonkind.

Hakyeon runs his thumb along the jagged edge of his sword. "It's you or me, filth."

"No." The demonoid shakes his head in a way that seems desperate. "You don't understand. I've come here to find you, Hakyeon."

_ Names are dangerous. _ Fear, cold like ice and heavy as stone plunges through Hakyeon's stomach. Without thinking--he doesn't give himself time to think--he leaps at the demonoid who falls to the ground easily, like grass in the breeze, giving a throaty wail with his long arms flailing uselessly at his side.

Hakyeon shoves Lifedrinker's notched edge against his throat. The demon's gloved hands hold it at bay, but he's shaking and weaker than Hakyeon; he won't last long. His face is twisted into a grimace of fear and exertion that shows off his upper and lower fangs, and Hakyeon thinks,  _ good, monster, you deserve this. _

"If you kill me--" the demonoid gasps, grunts, struggles, "--you'll never know where Sanghyuk is."

Hakyeon takes a deep breath and chokes. His heart shatters, little pieces sticking to the inside of his ribs, his throat. He slides off the demon, letting Lifedrinker fall from his hands, distantly hears the hilt clatter against the ground. He sees the image of Sanghyuk as he was the last time they were together: bloody and struggling in the brawny arms of a demonoid twice his size, his brown eyes shining with panic and the fire that surrounded them.

"Sanghyuk is dead," Hakyeon chokes out.

"He isn't," the demonoid says, and Hakyeon swears it sounds like pity.

The demonoid picks himself up off the ground, graceful and slow. He brushes off his slacks carefully, his hands still trembling, and then in the most curious of actions yet, holds out a hand to help Hakyeon up.

"I need your help," the demonoid says, lowering his hand some more, like Hakyeon can't see it directly in front of his face, "and you need mine."

Hakyeon gathers Lifedrinker and uses its immense form to lift himself off the ground. He glares at the demonoid, who stares back at him a bit hopelessly.

"I'm being hunted, as you can probably gather." The demonoid wrings his hands in front of him. "Is there somewhere safe you can take me where we can discuss this further?"

Hakyeon smiles, an unsettling raise of the left side of his lips that bares his teeth. "Oh. I have somewhere to take you."

( * )

The bar is down by the docks, where everything smells like fish guts and fear. It’s not advertised as a slayer bar, but that’s what it is--and any demon would be stupid to get within five blocks of the place. Hakyeon makes the demonoid walk ahead of him, where he can watch his every move, and he either doesn’t have The Sense or he hides it very, very well.

Hakyeon opens the heavy wooden door for the demonoid and when he hesitates, raises an eyebrow and hustles him inside with his arm. It’s smaller on the inside than it looks on the outside, bar stools crammed against each other and booths stacked against the walls like the inside of a bus. The lights descend from the roof on chains and hang low in their shades, causing the bar to be bright in certain areas and dark in the rest. The air inside feels stuffy and smells like clove smoke, and when they enter, everyone is already turned to look at the demonoid.

Someone coughs, and it’s the only sound other than the grainy music coming from the old jukebox in the corner. Hakyeon raises a hand, the other protective on the demonoid’s back. He shakes against Hakyeon’s hand.

“He’s with me.”

It’s not entirely unheard of for demons to be around slayers. Like the demonoid in Jaehwan’s office, they can be sedated, broken down, turned into shells of their former selves. Like slaves they’re kept, turned into paper pushers and dish washers, or even in some cases--consorts. 

Most of the slayers turn back to their conversation, a few choosing to continue glaring at the demonoid over their drinks. However, there’s a buzz of expectation in the air that can’t be denied. A room stuffed full of slayers with their demon senses on high alert--exactly what Hakyeon wanted.

He leads the demonoid to a booth in the back and waits for him to sit. Under the direct, unforgiving lamplight he examines the demonoid: long, high cheekbones, small mouth set in a pout, the same sharp, dark eyes looking up at him with a mixture of fear and gloom. He holds back a smirk of satisfaction as he slides into the booth opposite and steeples his fingers.

“What is it your kind drinks for leisure? Human blood?”

The demonoid swallows and doesn’t answer.

“I’m afraid they don’t sell that here.”

“Well?” Hakyeon asks. “What do you want? I’m buying.”

The demonoid mumbles something too low to hear.

“Speak up.”

“I’m not thirsty,” he says only a little louder.

Hakyeon reaches inside his coat and brings out a tiny vial, smaller than a finger, full of an opaque red liquid. He sets it on the table directly in between the two of them. Clearly a potion, but whether or not the demonoid recognizes it as a truth potion is debatable.

“You’re going to order something,” he says again, this time much more forceful.

The demonoid stares at the potion. He reaches out and turns the vial in his hands, then sets it back down, nodding his assent.

“Siren’s blood.”

Siren’s blood--likely one of the most expensive things on the menu. Hakyeon squints, but bites his tongue. He leaves to order their drinks--the sickeningly sweet Siren’s blood for the demonoid, and Jameson on the rocks for himself-- begrudgingly pays the twenty-five dollars, and comes back to find the demonoid picking at the rough wood of the table with his long fingernails. His eyes look up to Hakyeon and flicker amber before looking back down.

“Why did you bring me here?” he asks.

Hakyeon laughs under his breath, setting both the drinks before himself. “Are you scared?”

“Yes.”

Hakyeon studies the demonoid’s downturned eyes with confusion. It makes a prickle of suspicion grow up his spine: how very different this demonoid is from what he’s used to. If Hakyeon is honest with himself, he is afraid, too. Of how very human this demonoid seems to be. He takes a deep breath, steadying himself on the table. He’s surrounded by slayers. He has his truth potion. He has all of the power.

“I’m going to give you this truth potion, and you’re going to answer all of my questions. Maybe then I’ll listen to you.”

Pulling on the cork with his teeth, he pours the potion into the Siren’s blood, watching the thin red liquid disappear into the thick red liquid. He places the goblet in front of the demonoid.

“Stir it with your finger.”

The demonoid meticulously removes a ring and pockets it before stirring his drink. There are probably more hygenic ways to go about it, but as far as he knows, demonoids don’t get sick.

“Take a drink.”

As the demonoid does, so does Hakyeon, welcoming the burn of the whiskey after everything that’s happened tonight. He wonders what to ask, how to go about it, how to approach the sensitive subject of Sanghyuk, what in the hell he’s going to do if god forbid this demonoid is telling the truth--

The beginning. Start at the beginning.

“What’s your name?” Hakyeon asks.

“Taekwoon.”

“Drink again,” he says. “What kind of demon are you?”

“Demonoid,” Taekwoon says, taking a drink. He licks his lips. “Fourth rank.”

Hakyeon blinks, startled. He hopes it doesn’t show. Fourth rank demons are usually far too interested in their own world and politics to care about Earth. In short, they’re demonoid royalty and their servants--and now that Hakyeon knows it makes perfect sense, he curses himself for not seeing it earlier. The way he carries himself, the lack of bloodthirst.

Hakyeon makes a motion for Taekwoon to drink again. “How do you know about me? My name?”

Taekwoon smiles slightly. “You’re infamous. You should know that.”

Hakyeon takes a longer drink, preparing for the next answer. “How do you--know about Sanghyuk?”

“Sanghyuk is in my realm of Hell.”

Hakyeon’s fingers tighten around his glass. He watches the ice float in the golden-yellow liquid, clenching his teeth. Sanghyuk is alive. Sanghyuk  _ has been alive  _ for the past year, suffering in Hell, and Hakyeon had just given up on him. He should have known. He did know. He let Jaehwan talk him into dropping it, into moving on, this is all his fault--

Taekwoon clears his throat.

“What do you want from me?” Hakyeon asks, suddenly tired of the conversation, of the bar, of the presence of the demonoid. He wishes it were Sanghyuk across from him, wishes they were here celebrating a kill and that in a little while he would take him home, and everything would be okay.

Taekwoon drains the rest of his glass. His pretty, perfect teeth look pink when he speaks.

“I need your protection.”

“What?” Hakyeon asks, distracted by images of Sanghyuk in a cage, being prodded at by demonoids.

“I want you to be my bodyguard,” Taekwoon says.

Hakyeon laughs. He shakes his head, takes another drink, then laughs again, a little more delirious this time.

“And why do you need a bodyguard Taekwoon?”

Taekwoon looks around, then hunches himself over, trying to make himself smaller. “I pissed off a royal demonoid. I took something that didn’t belong to me. I made it here and I thought that would be the end of it. I thought he’d give up once he chased me out of Hell. But now he’s sending demons to collect me.”

“The hellhounds.”

“Yes. And they’re only going to get worse.”

Hakyeon finishes his drink. “So I what? Protect you forever because I’m grateful that you told me about Sanghyuk?”

“If you protect me long enough he’ll show up himself. Kill him, and I’ll take you directly to Sanghyuk.”

Hakyeon taps his fingers on the wood. He would do anything to have Sanghyuk back. Anything. That’s not even a question. But what has Taekwoon so afraid? Why is he afraid of another demon in a bar full of slayers?

“Tell me about this royal demonoid.”

“He’s also fourth rank. He’s--” Taekwoon lowers his voice, “he’s a king.”

“You stole from your king?” Hakyeon’s voice raises.

Taekwoon looks around again. “Yes, please lower your voice.”

“Why don’t you just give whatever it is back?”

“I sold it. I don’t know how to get it back. I don’t know where it is. Besides, it doesn’t matter… the deed is done, and he wants my head.”

Hakyeon laughs, deep and loud, throwing his head back. When he finally stops, Taekwoon is looking at him with an unimpressed stare.

“I was so afraid,” Hakyeon laughs, pointing at him, “that you were a trickster. A big bad demon with a plan so cruel and so smart that I couldn’t see it. But you’re just really stupid.” He continues to laugh. “Just really, really stupid.”

Taekwoon reaches across the table and takes ahold of Hakyeon’s wrist. His grip is strong and warm. Hakyeon stops laughing.

“Please,” he pleads with Hakyeon. “Please, if you don’t help me, I’ll die.”

“I don’t care about you,” Hakyeon rolls his eyes. “But I do care about Sanghyuk. And honestly, I haven’t had a good challenge lately. A demon king sounds good enough.”


	2. Wildfire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hakyeon takes Taekwoon somewhere safe and begins to train Hongbin

Down the antique disheveled streets of Old Town he takes Taekwoon, over rotting wooden pathways and past homes with shattered windows and broken doors. The street lights get dimmer; the atmosphere gets quieter. But it's an ominous kind of quiet. A sad one.

Mostly humans populate Old Town, usually poor, or criminal--likely both. There aren't many businesses or shops, though there are hulled out remnants of their buildings that are usual squatting places for the homeless.

Behind an old Ace Hardware is Hakyeon's apartment, a rickety house that was long ago split in half to make two separate rent-out spaces. Hakyeon pays an unfair price for what he's actually getting, but it's good for Old Town, better than squatting, better than living under Jaehwan's eye, better than having a roommate somewhere else.

Inside the burgundy door it's dark and quiet, except for the electric blue and buzz emanating from a long fish tank to the right. Wonshik jokes that the fish are his only friends. The joke stopped being funny after Sanghyuk left him.

There's a wine-red couch on the left, covered with white blankets and pillows for late nights and quick naps. A small coffee table is a mess of opened and unopened mail, candles, empty coffee cups, and a sweater. The TV opposite is smaller than he'd like, but not terrible, and flanked by both his DVD and CD collections.

Taking off his weapon and jacket, Hakyeon turns to hang it on the old-style standing coat rack when he notices Taekwoon standing on the welcome mat, looking somewhat forlorn.

"Get in here," Hakyeon says. "Shut the door, it's cold."

"I--I can't." He presses a hand to the doorway and it sparks, making a crackling sound. Taekwoon jerks his hand back and cradles it.

"Oh, fuck." How could Hakyeon forget? He has wards in his house against demons. Because he is a  _ slayer _ . "Just--hang on."

Up his narrow stairs, right into his bedroom. No time to do anything but grab his magickal toolbox and run back downstairs. Every second Taekwoon isn't in the safety of his apartment is a dangerous one.

He throws the box--an actual black toolbox he'd handpainted white symbols on--onto the coffee table and digs out his bone athame. Above his door he slices the dagger sideways, and watches as the round blue ward glows, cracks, and fades.

Grabbing Taekwoon's wrist, he yanks him into the apartment and closes the door, heaving a sigh of relief when the door clicks shut.

Taekwoon stands where Hakyeon let go of him, hands in his pockets, watching the fish. The bright light makes his bronze skin look statuesque and pale.

"Give me your coat, at least," Hakyeon says, holding out his hand.

He's not sure what to do with a demon houseguest, and Taekwoon's obvious discomfort is making him incredibly uncomfortable as well. His silence is creepy. Anything could be going on behind those avoidant little eyes. What is he thinking? Does he hate humans as much as Hakyeon hates demons? Does he just not care about any of this? Damn it, Hakyeon is so used to being able to read people.

Taekwoon shrugs off his blazer and hands it to Hakyeon. The shirt underneath is just as tailored to his broadness as the jacket was. In fact, every piece of clothing on him seems to fit perfectly, even though his legs are quite long and thin. Hakyeon gets the feeling he may have been more than just a servant.

"I need to re-do this ward," Hakyeon says, realizing that he's staring and turning away. "Make yourself umm… comfortable?”

Taekwoon circles the coffee table and sits on the couch, crossing his long legs and placing interlaced hands on top of them. He scans the coffee table with a raised eyebrow.

Refusing to be embarrassed, Hakyeon turns back to the door. Let’s see. A barrier ward. It’s been years since he first placed it, but his training was sound, and he’s pretty sure he remembers how to apply it. He lifts the top shelf out of the toolbox, and pulls out his wand. It’s a simple thing, a glazed cylinder twist of wrought iron with a perfectly round lapis lazuli on top. But it’s strong and beautiful, yet another thing Wonshik had supplied for him.

Lapis lazuli. Element: water, chakra: throat, planet: venus. A ring of pure lapis lazuli was gifted to King Solomon by an angel to control his demon legion. Such a beautiful stone with a long, storied history against demonkind. He glances at Taekwoon to see if he has noticed, but he is only staring at Hakyeon curiously, as if he’s waiting to see what he’ll do next.

As he sets to work raising and directing energy, he remembers the rest of the wards and seals inside of his home. 

“Are the other wards bothering you?” he asks, watching the lapis begin to glow.

“Only a little,” Taekwoon answers softly. “I am aware of them, and the one right upstairs is giving me a slight headache. But I understand it’s necessary.”

Hakyeon makes a non-committal hum, satisfied enough with the answer. Even if they were bothering him, Taekwoon is right--they are necessary for their protection.

He draws loops and runes across the top of his door. They linger for a moment across the peeling plaster after he’s drawn them with the wand, a dying indigo-tinted light. When he’s finished, the entire thing shines indigo for a moment, slightly resembling the face of a clock with symbols instead of numbers. Then it fades completely.

Panting slightly, Hakyeon wipes the sweat from his forehead. He’s never been particularly  _ good _ at magick. It takes a lot out of him when he does do it, the fatigue meaning he’s both out of practice and an amateur.

Taekwoon is still watching, his head tilted to the side. Through the blinds long yellow street light spills in slats across his body. His eyes glow fully amber, a strange vision of bright reflective light in the dark. Hakyeon is transfixed.

“Are you finished?” Taekwoon asks. He blinks rapidly, and the eyelight disappears.

“Y-yeah.Yes.”

Putting his wand away, Hakyeon sets himself in the recliner and clicks on the television, if only to have something to do. It blasts on loudly, some evening drama about police and the accompanying dramatic music not doing much for his mood.

He wants to sleep. He wants to sleep without worrying about the demons in or outside of his home. The weariness is always there, as if it's carried within the demon blood that pumps inside him.

Then, as if they were friends, Taekwoon speaks up:

“Tell me about Sanghyuk.”

A grave chuckle from Hakyeon. He looks at Taekwoon, but the demon is staring at the TV. "Why would I do that?"

Taekwoon shrugs with his left shoulder. "I get the feeling you haven't talked about him much."

Hakyeon's eyes narrow, but his heartbeat increases, which surely Taekwoon can hear. An answer in and of itself. Hakyeon doesn't want to talk to anyone about Sanghyuk. He doesn't need to talk to anyone about Sanghyuk. What's done is done, there's no need to relive old memories for the sake of pity.

"I'll tell you about my Sanghyuk," Taekwoon says, so low Hakyeon can barely hear it over the television. Taekwoon is looking at the ceiling now, fumbling with a button on his shirt.

"Your what?"

"My Sanghyuk. A lover I lost."

Hakyeon draws his eyebrows together, confused and somewhat uncomfortable with a demon spilling his guts to him in his own home. But before he can protest, Taekwoon continues.

"I met him in the palace. One of those elaborate parties for no reason royals are so used to having. He was serving goblets of blood and I watched him the entire night before I approached him."

"Are you a royal?" Hakyeon asks, suddenly full of curiosity.

Taekwoon chuckles. "If I were, would I have had to steal for money?"

"I don't know," Hakyeon says, "maybe you're a klepto."

Taekwoon rolls his eyes. "I spent the night in his bed, and many more after that. I never guessed I would fall in love, but he sang to me, and read me poems he had written. He was such a soft, lovely soul."

Taekwoon's voice breaks near the end of the sentence and Hakyeon feels the urge to go and to comfort, as he would anyone he was with. But he stays put. This is a _ demon _ .

"I began neglecting my duties at home. My father was furious but I didn't care. Nothing mattered but him, as happens with first loves. He was my whole world."

Taekwoon leans forward and puts his forearms on his legs.

"But my father is a cruel man; he takes family seriously. And he had his revenge. He came upon us one night as we were sleeping and utterly destroyed him."

"Was it--because you were gay?"

Taekwoon laughs, a soft huff in the dark. "No. Well--perhaps, in a way. But not directly. Part of my duty to my family is to find a bride and have heirs. But liking men does not bother my father. Demons hardly think about such things."

Hakyeon can sense that Taekwoon isn't lying. He doesn't know how; he just knows. And that fact breaks his heart, that demons can be as cruel to each other--their own families--as they are to humans. It curls hate in his gut even tighter.

He must have a sneer on his face, because Taekwoon asks, "What's wrong?"

Hakyeon shakes his head. "I'm just sorry you had to experience that. I know what it's like and…" Hakyeon looks down at his hands, "I wouldn't wish it upon my worst enemy."

"It's alright. I've done my grieving, but I don't think you have. And talking about it is a good way to…" Taekwoon falters at the hard look Hakyeon gives him, "to heal…"

"No." Hakyeon crosses arms and feels like a child pouting.

"It's okay," Taekwoon says, leaning back on the couch. "You don't have to tell me your story."

Damn him. He's so  _ nice _ . And sincere. And he's sitting here just offering to be Hakyeon's therapist, even offering his own anecdotes, being vulnerable to Hakyeon first. Now Hakyeon feels obligated to share his story. This is manipulation.

"I trained him," Hakyeon says, before he can think too much harder about it.

"The way he moved with daggers was like a whisper, like the wind, which was his element, you know. It was so natural to him, he took to it so easily. It was beautiful to watch him work, if you could catch sight of him; like he was dancing. His long, lean legs, his beautiful hands."

Hakyeon blinks, realizes he's gushing. Heat rises from his neck into his face. Taekwoon gives a half-smile.

"He became my partner. In slaying I mean. We worked so well together, it was like we could read each other's mind on the field we were so in sync. We made such a name for ourselves."

"Every demon had heard of you two," adds Taekwoon.

"Then, natural as anything, we fell into each other's arms and never looked back. We knew it made it more dangerous, putting our hearts on the line like that. People die in the field all the time. But we felt invincible. Nothing could touch us."

"Obviously we were wrong. It was a Rekluse that did us in. Sanghyuk had never faced one before. We almost had it, too, it was wounded when it set fire to everything and separated us. The flames were too high for me to see him. The Rekluse caught him by the throat and the last time I saw him he was bleeding from his nose, his mouth, his eyes bloody and bulging…"

Hakyeon puts his head in his hands, palms digging into his eyes as if he could press away the envisioned memory.

"I'm so sorry," Taekwoon says after a heavy silence. "I'm sorry that my kind are… like this. I'm sorry that you have to have your profession at all."

Hakyeon looks to Taekwoon, but he seems deep in thought, looking down at his own lap.

"Do you promise me I'll see him again?" Hakyeon asks, lip trembling.

"I promise."

~ * ~

It's Monday morning when Hakyeon arranges to meet with Hongbin, leaving a sleeping Taekwoon across his couch, long legs draped over the armrest and feet almost touching the wall. He looks peaceful when Hakyeon leaves him with a note on the coffee table, explaining where he's going and that the wards will keep him safe, but that he should keep the lights off and lie low anyway.

Hakyeon thinks about Taekwoon all the way to the laundromat. He's such a contradiction to everything Hakyeon has ever known about demons, and still it leaves him on edge, waiting for this mask of civility and gentleness to slide off. Surely somewhere underneath is a being of greed, of malicious intent.

And yet there was such sympathy in his eyes when Hakyeon had told his story about Sanghyuk. So much sincerity when he had apologized on behalf of all demonkind. A ridiculous notion, but a kind one.

Hakyeon hated to admit, Taekwoon intrigued him. He was a mystery to unlock. A potentially dangerous one at that. One that Jaehwan would wholly disapprove of. All three of those things were powerfully tempting.

Waiting for him outside the laundromat, Hongbin is leaned against the brick, in much the same uniform as he had been the last time Hakyeon had seen him. Jeans and an oversized t-shirt. He's scrolling through his phone with his left hand, with a cigarette in his right.

Hakyeon sighs and approaches.

"You know you're going to have to quit," Hakyeon says, in way of a greeting.

Hongbin squints at him, as he's looking into the morning sun. "There's nothing in the official regulations about smoking."

Hakyeon eyes the cigarette as Hongbin takes another drag. "No, but it's a weakness, in more ways than one."

"Whatever." He drops it on the ground and grinds it into the cement with the toe of his shoe. "Why aren't we using the training grounds again?"

Hakyeon begins to walk the journey east, turning his head to reply, and to make sure Hongbin is following. "Because the Demonslayer training grounds are a depressing dungeon, and their training dummies are immobile live thralls."

Hongbin rushes his steps until he falls in alongside Hakyeon, apparently not satisfied with following. "And what? You feel sorry for them?"

"Hell no." Hakyeon slides sideways to avoid a collision with an ogre carrying a large stack of boxes. "But you get used to attacking easy, stationary targets right off the bat, that has to be unlearned once you start hunting live prey. Why not start from the beginning?"

"Um," Hongbin halts, right in the middle of the sidewalk, earning him some unsavory looks from other pedestrians. "I'm going to start hunting demons  _ today _ ?"

Hakyeon clasps him around the neck and forces him forward again. "Of course not. You're going to be shooting rats today."

And Hakyeon does indeed lead him farther east and down into a tunnel of sewers he knows are infested with turgid rats, rats touched with the taint of dark magic. He feels a sort of forlorn misery as he descends the ladder ahead of his pupil; he brought Sanghyuk here as well, and it was the last time he set foot in this place.

Hakyeon lets his eyes adjust to the dark, lets his Demonslayer cat eyes kick in.

The tunnel around them is made of old brick, and it's cold and damp, though Hakyeon is used to the cold. The ground is covered in an inch of brownish green liquid, slowly rippling away from them. There's a soft rumbling sound echoing from seemingly all around them, every which way.

"Are we even allowed to be down here?" Hongbin asks, stepping down hesitantly and standing close to Hakyeon's side.

"Not technically." Hakyeon tips his head to the side, trying to hear anything under the reverberating hum. "But I don't think anyone would protest our solving the rat problem."

"I can't believe I'm hunting rats. Like a fucking first quest in an RPG."

"I don't know what that means," Hakyeon says, waving his hand in the air. "Do you hear anything?"

It's likely Hongbin could hear things Hakyeon couldn't. Elves have better hearing even before the Demonslayer ritual.

Hongbin reaches for the shotgun on his back, flipping the safety and staring down the sights. Quietly, stepping forward, he says, "No."

Hakyeon raises an eyebrow. "How much experience do you have with that gun?" he whispers back.

"Enough."

Hakyeon has to admit, he doesn't know much about guns. But the way Hongbin holds the gun, leans into it, looks like it's an extension of himself--he doesn't think he has much to worry about.

"You chose a shotgun. Not a wise choice when it comes to guns. You'll have to stay closer ranged."

"First, you use a sword." Hongbin says dryly. "Second, that's a myth. I can kill a man from fifty feet away."

"A very long sword," Hakyeon says. "And I hope you're right."

Water sloshes around his boots as he follows Hongbin as quiet as he can. Near a crossroads, Hongbin lifts his right hand to tell Hakyeon to stop, a strange and militant action. Hakyeon freezes.

After a moment, he can hear them too. The scratching and squeak of the rats, rustling through refuse. They must be around the corner.

Hongbin turns to make eye contact with him, bringing his finger to his lips in a shushing motion. He creeps toward the corner then disappears beyond it.

One shot. A rat's sad little squeak. Pump. Second shot. A yell; the splatter of water. Another pump. Third shot. Another squeak. And then nothing.

Hakyeon chews his lip. The electric roar seems deafening as he strains to hear something of Hongbin. He reaches for Lifedrinker, about to take a step, when Hongbin appears from the right tunnel, dripping wet and holding his left shoulder.

Hakyeon lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding. He jogs toward Hongbin, resting both of his hands on his shoulder.

"Did you get bit? Are you alright?"

"No," Hongbin shakes his head, "Only scratched. And soaking fucking wet."

Scratched is still bad enough--these rats' claws are as long as human fingers and can pierce deep. Hongbin is bleeding, but upon further inspection it does seem to be more of a scratch than a puncture wound.

Stepping back from inspecting his shoulder, Hakyeon notices Hongbin is grinning, his canines gleaming in the low light. With green blood splattered across his face and hair, he looks maniacal.

"This is so much more fun than the training grounds," he says at Hakyeon's incredulous look.

Hakyeon lets out an impatient sound and punches Hongbin's arm. "You don't know what your element is yet, do you?"

"No."

You have a pulse of elemental energy that throws things back for when enemies get too close. I can show you how to use it."

"That sounds OP."

"What?"

"Nevermind."

"Anyway… you should lead the way. Find another nest."

Hongbin seems comfortable leading Hakyeon around. His aptitude with his weapon is above average, even excellent. It’s clear that Hakyeon isn’t here to train him in battle. But there’s a difference between combat and  _ demonic combat _ , and it’s Hakyeon’s job to get him ready to face that. Mentally as much as physically.

“Does your family know you’re here? Do they approve?” Hakyeon asks, as they turn the left corner.

Hongbin gives him a confused look over the barrels of his gun. “They know.”

They walk quite a ways before Hongbin adds, “My dad wanted me to go into the military like him. He sees this as blasphemy and witchcraft.”

“And your mom?”

“She doesn’t have opinions that aren’t my dad’s.”

“I see.” Hakyeon frowns. “I’m sorry that they don’t support you as a family should.”

“It’s fine. My little brother thinks I’m cool.”

Hakyeon smiles.

“What about your family?” Hongbin asks.

“I don’t have a family.”

“Oh, uh. Sorry for asking.”

“You’re okay. I was an orphan and lived in West Park. I never knew my parents so I have no memory of loss.”

“Right.”

They continue in an awkward silence for a bit, before Hakyeon speaks up again.

"What made you decide--"

The same stop motion interrupts him and he goes still. Far ahead he can see the tunnel open up into a room, water down the middle and cement walkways on the sides. On the right walkway is a rat's nest, a heaping pile of cloth and aluminum, newspaper and glass. One of the rats stands on its hind legs, tall as half a man, and sniffs the air.

"Watch me," Hakyeon says, cupping Hongbin's shoulder. "The pulse flows up through your core and outward, almost like indigestion."

Hongbin makes a face.

"It's the best way to describe it." Hakyeon draws Lifedrinker, a difficult task in the tunnel. He can't wield it properly in this small space, but he knows how to make do. "Mine is a concussion blast--the rats will be disoriented for a few seconds after I use it. That's when I want you to try yours."

Hongbin draws his brows together, nodding. He looks back to the nest, concentrated, serious, his chiseled features sharp as his ears. Some of his hair has fallen down to curl around his neck and temples and he looks like a wolf, a natural predator locked onto his prey.

Maybe Hakyeon  _ was _ wrong about the nature of blood on Hongbin's hands.

Hakyeon runs. The rats pick up the noise at about thirty feet away. One crawls onto the nest, the other stands its ground, rearing back and scratching at the air. The eyes are a sickly neon green, searching the dark for the source of the noise.

Leaping into the room, he plants Lifedrinker onto the ground for leverage. At his highest point he feels the energy well up in his stomach. It surges up and over his crown. Purple lightning rushes outward. He feels the backlash of wind blow through his hair, against his clothes.

The rats soar, hurled against the grimy wall and slide down. Garbage flies outward, the nest obliterated. Papers flutter through the air as glass shatters against brick. The rats lie where they landed, twitching.

Hongbin stands next to Lifedrinker. His face is upturned, strained.

"I can't do it," he says, slumping his shoulders. He looks, helpless, into Hakyeon's eyes.

The rats stir, and Hakyeon sends a second blast of lightning to incapacitate them once again. "Yes you can!" He splays his hand on Hongbin's stomach. "Feel it in your core!"

Hongbin looks between Hakyeon's eyes, closing his own. Nothing happens. Then Hongbin twists his body, shakes his head. Groans in frustration. Not a second later, a ring of fire rushes forth.

Hakyeon ducks, a natural reaction to fire, though he knows he's immune to Demonslayer magic. Squeals echo around the room as the rats are set ablaze. Various objects are on fire, crackling softly.

The rats break for the water. Hakyeon twirls Lifedrinker in the air. Its notched blade slices down through mottled fur and moldy skin. The rat hangs off the edge of the cement, intestines spilling out. Blood streams green into the brown water.

Energy surges up his arms. The dark magic prickles against his skin, sending shivers up his spine. It swims in his chest like a shark snapping to get free.

Before Hakyeon can expel the energy, he hears a gunshot. The second rat ruptures, sending viscera splattering upward against the wall. Hongbin pumps his gun somewhere behind him.

Over the electric hum and the crackle of fire, they both pant their exertion.

Hakyeon takes a moment to ground the excess energy from Lifedrinker, then turns. "You did it!"

"I did it," he repeats, like he doesn't quite believe it.

Adrenaline still rushing through him, Hakyeon wants more, feels more; he's used to more. He wants to embrace Hongbin, to tell him he's proud of him. He wants to wipe the blood from his face and have a real conversation with him. He wants--

But no. He'll not make the same mistake twice. He won't care about Hongbin, he can't.

Hakyeon looks past him at the ladder. They should go.

The trip back to the laundromat is mostly quiet without Hakyeon's attempts at conversation. Hongbin lags behind at points, and every time Hakyeon catches him with a slight smile on his face. Hakyeon makes him promise to get the scratch looked at. He agrees, but not without a roll of his eyes.

Back at base, Hongbin stands outside the door, hesitating to go inside. He looks back.

"Hey, Hakyeon?"

It's the first time Hongbin has referred to him by name. It feels important, somehow.

"Yeah?"

He reaches into his back pocket and produces his crumpled pack of cigarettes, places them into Hakyeon's hand.

"It's dangerous to go alone. Take this."

Hakyeon feels something churn inside his chest, and despite himself, he smiles warmly at Hongbin, whose ears flush.

Hongbin opens the door and disappears inside, relieving Hakyeon of the burden of finding something to say. Hakyeon tucks the cigarettes into his own pack and heads to a nearby coffee shop, not yet ready to face Taekwoon again.

He sits stoic and watchful at a tiny window table, sipping the darkest brew they have to offer. It's mid-afternoon, and he must head home before dusk so as not to leave Taekwoon alone at night, but for now he can enjoy the relative anonymity of disappearing in the corner of this shop.

His thoughts wander to Hongbin's element, how lucky he is to be fire-chosen; yes, many demons are immune to fire but just as many are weak to it, scared of it even--the initiate wields a power he has no concept the weight of. All the more reason he needs proper training, proper guidance. Hakyeon is glad that he is the one to do it; far too many might gloss over the basics or rush the importance of mental strength. 

Mental strength is the most important of all. Unless you want to wake up one day as one of the enemy. Far too many Demonslayers seem blase about the aspect of what they could become. He wonders if Hongbin has the nightmares, if they keep him awake fearing to put his head to the pillow.

What had he done at his initiation?

What was Taekwoon doing right now?

Hakyeon makes a face down at his coffee. Where did  _ that _ thought come from?

But it does intrigue him. What would a demon find to occupy himself for a full day inside his apartment? Would he read? Is Taekwoon an intellectual sort of demon? Would he rot his mind on television, finding trashy talk shows and over-the-top dramas to binge on, hardly noticing the time tick away? Does Hell have television?

Maybe he would just sleep the day away as he had most of the night, and Hakyeon would return to his soft, sleepy face just the way he'd left it.

Do fourth rank demons eat human flesh and blood? Taekwoon hadn't agreed or disagreed when he's been accused of it at the Demonslayer bar. How the hell is Hakyeon going to feed him human? Would already dead flesh suffice?

In Jaehwan's voice, Hakyeon hears,  _ What the fuck have you gotten yourself into now? _

Hakyeon's phone buzzes against the table, bringing him back to the conversational buzz of the cafe. He turns it over to a text from Wonshik.

Dopey: hey bud where have u been

Hakyeon: Busy with demons.

Dopey: u always say that

Dopey: u promised to try out some of my prototypes

Hakyeon: I'm sorry, I completely forgot. :(

Dopey: u always say that too

Hakyeon: I'll make it up to you in a few days, I promise. I'll let you strap me into any machine you have.

Dopey: 😊

That was probably not a promise he should make to Wonshik. He might end up a completely different species. Still, hearing from his best friend puts a smile on his face, and he leaves the cafe in a better mood than he entered.

The sun is setting when he exits the bus, and the walk home is pleasant--until two blocks away, when the presence of demon rushes through him like wildfire. It isn't just Taekwoon--it's four reptilian and one monstrous.

He breaks into a run, eliciting his lightning to go faster than humanly possible. Taekwoon is still alive, but that doesn't mean--

There, at the apartment, towering on the roof is a demogorgon. Hakyeon gasps and stumbles backward to get a full look at it. He's killed a few in his time, but always with Jaehwan or Sanghyuk--never alone.

Its two lion heads roar in sync up at the fading twilight sky. Hakyeon feels the rumble through his entire body, his heart skipping a beat before pounding against his chest.

It leaps and lands between Hakyeon and the door. Twice the height and many, many times the weight of himself, the demogorgon cracks the tarmac where it lands and shakes the ground, threatening to send Hakyeon off balance.

He hears screams, faded, far away. The sound of pedestrians running past him. The demogorgon waves its double-tentacled arms in the air and brings them down to snatch at the humans fleeing.

Hakyeon can't move.

Thankfully, it misses, and bent over, its forked reptilian tail snaps against the air like a whip. The tail is headed right for him, and in the back of his mind, he remembers from his studies: that thing drains life like Lifedrinker.

He ducks at the last second, falling backward onto the road. The tail comes so close he can feel the air it displaces above his head.

Scrambling backward, he hears uneven screeching, as four small raptor demons launch themselves at his body, clamping onto his arms.   
  



	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hakyeon slays the demogorgon; Hongbin begins to open up to him

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am. so sorry. for taking this long to update. i never imagined it would take me ten months. i got distracted by a few other projects, but mostly it's just been difficult to write at all.
> 
> i don't even think the chapter makes up for it, it's only half of what i plotted for the chapter, but it was getting very long and i wanted to offer something before it took me another couple months to finish.
> 
> a trigger warning: in this chapter there are descriptions of gore and violence in nightmares, and of past drug use.

* * *

The raptors' teeth gnaw at Hakyeon's upper arms. He yells, grabbing them one by one and prying them off, snapping their necks and throwing them to the side of the road. Mindless, weak things they are, just puppets of the demogorgon, but they'd done their job—the poison of their bite will affect him soon.

He rolls to the side and out of the way as the demogorgon’s foot comes down upon him. Drawing Lifedrinker, he feels himself begin to sweat. Think, he has to think. What are its weaknesses? He knows it’s resistant to magic. Tentacles aim for his waist and he jumps backward.

Fire. But he has no fire, no Hongbin to help him out. No, his only hope is that this creature is slow and stupid. But how to slay it? Its hard scales will protect it from his blade so Hakyeon has only one choice—to go for the heads. The heads, that are ten feet in the air.

Hakyeon feels his eyes grow heavy, the syrupy slowness in his veins, the stuffiness of his head.

Through the haze, he can't help but remember the last time he fought one, distracting the ignorant demon while Sanghyuk danced behind it, ripping through it with his serrated blades. God, how he wishes Sanghyuk were with him now. It's a thought he usually doesn't let himself finish, but he is so tired… 

Lifedrinker feels so very heavy. He grips it tighter with both hands, shaking his head and focusing on the demon.

The tail whips at him again and he holds up Lifedrinker to parry. Bouncing off, the tail lashes back and the demogorgon roars, swiping at him again, narrowly missing.

But that—that gives him an idea. A terribly stupid idea. A Hakyeon idea.

He jumps away from the tail again, but as the tentacles swoop down to grab for him, he makes no move to get away. Thick, slimy flesh wraps around his middle and he's jerked eight feet into the air, his stomach flipping and head spinning. Through the dizzying height, he manages to keep hold of Lifedrinker.

Hakyeon can smell the rot of the creature's tentacles, knows he has only a small window of time before the touch withers him away to nothing. But Lifedrinker is so heavy, and he is so tired. His head rolls back on his neck. 

The lion heads roar in sync as the nearest dives in to tear at his upper body. Hakyeon snaps back to attention, keeping the snarling mouth at bay with one foot while he slashes at its snout.

The head jerks back, an almost human motion of indignation, baring its long neck, and Hakyeon knows it's now or never. Swinging Lifedrinker back like a bat, Hakyeon swings forward with all the might the poison will allow. 

Lifedrinker rips through the neck, and as the demogorgon stumbles backward, shaking the ground, the first head slides sideways to thunk heavily onto the street, its black blood spilling after it. 

The demogorgon shrieks, an awful piercing sound. Hakyeon clasps Lifedrinker with both hands as it rumbles with energy. It rushes into him, through his tired limbs and hazy mind, making every hair on his body stand on end. He is alert now, terribly alert, irritable and shaking with it like an angelwing addict.

The tentacles crush around his ribs, and as he gasps for air he feels the decay scraping against his chest. Maybe this  _ was _ a bad idea. All the demogorgon has to do is stand here and let him wither away into a corpse, and Hakyeon isn't sure Lifedrinker can slice through the tentacle to free himself, even with the excess energy.

Hakyeon feels like he's going crazy, mind running rampant and shaking with power, while his midsection churns, skin flaking off. Panic gnaws at the edges of his mind. He hacks frantically at every part of the tentacle surrounding him that he can reach, but Lifedrinker merely slides off. His heart thumps against his chest and his breaths come in sharp, wheezing gasps.

This is the end. In some small, damaged part of his mind he thinks:  _ at least maybe I will see Sanghyuk again _ .

The lion's head roars. Already nauseated, the tentacle makes it worse as it waves Hakyeon around while it turns. Hakyeon's breath goes still. Below on the ground stands Taekwoon, tiny useless dagger in hand, held entirely the wrong way for combat.

_ No _ , Hakyeon means to shout, entirely limp in the tentacles grasp.  _ Go back inside. Don't let my death be in vain. _ Instead he only groans, long and miserable, as a stream of blood leaks out of the corner of his mouth.

Taekwoon looks to be stabbing the demon in the claw beds of its feet, and judging by the demogorgon's roars it's both painful and annoying. It swipes at Taekwoon with its other tentacle, missing by a mile. It tries to stomp him next, but he rushes to the other foot and stabs it as well.

Hakyeon's heart aches. Taekwoon may be faster, but he has no real way to damage the demon and it's only a matter of time before it catches him, too. They don't both have to die.  _ Run _ , he tries to mentally tell Taekwoon.  _ Please, run. _

The demon emits a low, frustrated sound and darts down, aiming its head for Taekwoon. Hakyeon watches in horror, but as the lion's head nears, Taekwoon grabs its long nose, shoving his fingers up under the nostrils. Sparks fly like fireworks and the head snaps back, groaning long and open-mouthed at the sky. 

Without thinking, on pure muscle memory and instinct, Hakyeon sees the vulnerability, the opportunity, and swings Lifedrinker against the demon's exposed throat, all that energy crackling out of him at once. 

It happens as if in slow motion; the head falls to one side and the body the other. Hakyeon slides from the tentacles grip and he's falling, falling to the hard tarmac below him with nothing to break his fall. He has enough presence of mind to curl into a ball, to tuck his head into his chest and cover it with his arms.

He hits the ground hip-first, followed by his shoulder. Pain explodes outward and he screams, dropping Lifedrinker and rolling onto his back. He hears running footsteps and then Taekwoon is there, fuzzy and indistinct as his eyes refuse to focus.

"Hakyeon," he says, hands hovering over Hakyeon's body, darting back and forth. "Hakyeon, what—" 

"I'll be okay," Hakyeon groans out.

Taekwoon still looks panicked, but Hakyeon is exhausted. He lets his head fall back against the ground and just breathes, breathes until his breath is steady and heartbeat strong. Taekwoon lets him have his silence.

He opens his eyes again, looks up at the stars shining down on them as if nothing had happened. So cold and indifferent. It used to comfort him, the night sky. A lot of things used to comfort him, and he's lost them all. 

Slowly he sits up, Taekwoon hovering nervously beside him. They can't linger here. They need to move, to get to safety.

"Don't move too much," Taekwoon says, hands on Hakyeon's knees. He's deliciously warm.

"I have to," Hakyeon says, pushing Taekwoon's arms away to stand up. He wobbles, but makes it to his feet. His stomach makes a sound like a muted roar of its own, and Hakyeon wraps an arm around his abdomen as Taekwoon looks to him with a frown. 

"Go inside," Hakyeon urges him, already limping toward one of the heads, his stomach challenging him with every step. "We'll talk inside."

Taekwoon hesitates, looks like he wants to argue. But a weary look from Hakyeon has him returning to the apartment, closing the door softly behind him.

Hakyeon gathers the bodies of the raptors, the two lion heads by their mane, and places them atop the demogorgon body in a grotesque looking heap. It reeks of demon blood, a smell he's quite acclimated to, but it's everywhere; he feels it sticking to the bottom of his boots as he walks. He stares at one of the lion heads as it lies there atop the scaly hip, eyes open in a dead stare, tongue lolled out to the side. He blinks slowly. There's an ache gnawing at his bones, one that seems somehow reflected in this morbid pile of death.

He sighs. Ruffling through his pack, he finds Hongbin's cigarettes and lights the entire pack on fire. He watches it burn as a torch for a moment before tossing it onto the body. It will catch easily enough. 

Turning his back to the fire, he slips into the old comfort of his apartment and shuts the door. 

  
  
  


Inside, Taekwoon is sitting on the edge of the chair, wringing his long hands together. Hakyeon closes and locks the door behind him, then turns and slumps against it. A million thoughts scatter through his mind like little mice, and yet he can't pin anything down to focus on it. He feels hyper and drained at the same time, not an unusual occurrence after battle, but his particular method of relieving that headache isn't viable with current company.

He leans Lifedrinker against the wall and hangs his coat on the rack.

"Are you hurt?" he asks Taekwoon, knowing he isn't, but unable to stand the silence.

Taekwoon stands. "No." 

Hakyeon limps to the couch and collapses, more abruptly than he means to. He lets his boots thud onto the coffee table over unpaid bills and rolls his head back. He groans, in pain and frustration. 

"You're hurt." Taekwoon says it so softly, so discordant with everything he and Hakyeon are, what they do.

Hakyeon places a hand over his stomach, then raises his shirt to show Taekwoon in an oddly vulnerable-feeling gesture. The flesh of his abdomen is loose, wrinkled and peeling and tinged purple with bright red, raw blisters protruding.

Taekwoon covers his mouth with the back of his hand. 

"I'll have to go see a witch," Hakyeon says, wincing as he toes his boots off. "God knows how long it will take, or what I'll have to  _ drink _ …"

"I can make it go away," Taekwoon says, still standing uncomfortably straight. 

Hakyeon stares at him. He doesn't think Taekwoon is a witch, but then, what does he know about Taekwoon, really? 

When Hakyeon doesn't answer, Taekwoon joins him on the couch. "I can heal it," he says, like it's a clarification.

"You know alchemy?" Hakyeon asks.

Taekwoon looks away, past the tv and into the kitchen. Hakyeon watches his profile, the swoop of his rounded nose and curved chin. He is so much softer, from the side. Taekwoon looks back at him. 

"I can heal it with my hands."

Hakyeon continues to stare, dumbfounded. It may be remnants of the raptor poison, but his brain feels like a match that won't quite catch fire. He doesn't understand; he doesn't know how to ask for clarification. He doesn't know if he  _ wants _ to. His eyes droop, heavy.

Taekwoon scoots closer until their knees are touching, his perfect linen slacks against Hakyeon's dirty black jeans. Hakyeon stares at the juxtaposition like it's a clue, like it means something.

"May I?" Taekwoon asks. His hands hover a respectful distance above the hem of Hakyeon's henley.

Hakyeon nods. Taekwoon's fingers graze sore skin and make Hakyeon seethe as he pulls his shirt back up. Yellow eyes flicker to his for the smallest of moments before returning to his stomach.

"I don't know how this is going to feel," Taekwoon says, biting the corner of his lip. "I've never… done it to a human."

That is a red flag if he's ever heard one. Once again the absurdity of his situation hits him, the reminder that Taekwoon is a  _ demon _ , and the last thing he should be doing is letting him close enough to touch him. And yet, Hakyeon feels soft and languid in this moment, comforted by a presence other than his own after battle. Further still, there is a curiosity, an eagerness that he can't quite tamp down in his semi-drugged state for the feel of Taekwoon's hands on his skin.

Hakyeon grunts, a non-response really, but he wants Taekwoon to know he is listening. His long, ring-decorated fingers press horizontally against Hakyeon's stomach, over his belly button. He is being so, so very gentle, but the skin is raw and cracked; Hakyeon's whole body tenses at the touch and his fingers claw into the arm of the couch.

Taekwoon's hand begins to glow orange underneath, as if covering a flashlight. Hakyeon feels the soft, comforting warmth that he's come to associate with Taekwoon, and then it deepens to a rough burning sensation as he feels his skin tighten. His hips lift from the couch, but Taekwoon gets a hand on his thigh and shushes him through the pain.

It's certainly not the worst he's ever felt. He grits his teeth and watches through squinting eyes as Taekwoon moves his hand along his stomach, everywhere the skin is withered and bruised. Behind his touch, the skin glows back to its normal brown, soft complexion. Hakyeon looks at Taekwoon with wonder behind his eyes, even as Taekwoon looks on with concentration at his ministrations.

When Taekwoon pulls back his hand and mutters for him to turn around, he licks his lips and hesitates. It feels a little too dark in his living room, the walls close, and Taekwoon even closer. The heat coming off Taekwoon is immense and suddenly unpleasant, like sitting too close to a campfire. Hakyeon blinks in rapid succession and looks up at Taekwoon dumbly, still holding his shirt up to his chest. 

"Hakyeon?" Taekwoon asks. "I need to heal your back. Will you turn around for me?"

And  _ ah _ , the quiet softness of that request thrums through Hakyeon's body as if it were made another way, at another time. His body obeys with a mind of its own, knees propped on the cushions and hands gripping the back of the couch. 

For some reason the back hurts worse; Hakyeon cries out and collapses onto his elbows. Taekwoon apologizes but continues, running his palm over the bumps of Hakyeon's spine and sliding down his sides. Overwhelmed by the mingling pain and pleasure of Taekwoon's hands, Hakyeon goes limp and simply whines, lips parted against the rough fabric of the couch.

After a few minutes, Taekwoon pulls Hakyeon's shirt back down and scoots away, hands tucked between his knees. Hakyeon turns and lets his body slink down, giving his full weight to the cushions and feeling his body go completely slack for the first time since battle. Adrenaline gone, and likely the poison too along with the curse, Hakyeon heaves in a deep breath with a clear mind, ashamed at his thoughts from only minutes before, but eyes still lingering on Taekwoon's hands. 

"How do you know how to do that?"

Taekwoon shrugs, but really, he looks like he's trying to shrink into himself. 

"Demons can't use healing," Hakyeon continues. "They just can't."

Taekwoon hangs his head. "I can," he mumbles. Hakyeon is going to argue, but before he can, Taekwoon continues, "Please don't ask me how. I trusted you to show you that."

Silence. Hakyeon nibbles loose skin on his lip. Unknowns make him trust Taekwoon less, and yet, apparently Taekwoon has trusted him with something important. Pain lingers in the muscles of his body, and he shifts slightly, wincing. He wants the calm aloneness of his bed.

"You shouldn't have been out there," Hakyeon says.

Taekwoon glances up at him. "I helped you." 

"You could have been hurt. Killed."

" _ You _ could have been hurt or killed."

Hakyeon shakes his head. "I'm a demonslayer, your bodyguard—I can't be distracted by you." 

"That gorgon would have bested you if I didn't intervene."

Hakyeon makes a sound of disbelief and crosses his arms. "I know how to do my job."

"Hakyeon—" 

"I'm going to bed." 

  
  


~ * ~

  
  


It's ridiculous how long Hakyeon has to argue with Jaehwan in order to get what he wants. The long, cross glares he has to endure and the painful reminders of his own mistakes and his past addiction. (Why, why does he always have to bring that up?) In the end, Jaehwan gives him this week's training security code and tells him to fuck off.

He does fuck off, right down the dorm hallway and straight to Hongbin's door. He hesitates for a moment as he realizes it's still quite early in the morning—the sun had yet to rise when he'd entered the building—but he shrugs and knocks anyway.

The door opens swiftly, startling Hakyeon. Hongbin is wearing black and white checkered pajama pants, but he doesn't look like he'd been asleep. His hair is down and looks greasy as he runs a hand through it. His eyes are red-rimmed and droopy as Hakyeon studies him. 

Hakyeon knows. God, does he  _ know _ what Hongbin is going through.

"Are you okay?" he can't help but ask, knowing he won't be met with the truth.

"Just tired."

Hakyeon nods. "Understandable." What else can he say?

"Do you have another quest for me, sir?" Hongbin asks.

Hakyeon makes a face. "Don't call me that. But yes. Meet me at the training grounds after you've showered and eaten. I need you alert."

"I'm alert," Hongbin asserts, yawning almost before he's finished talking.

"Uh-huh," Hakyeon plays along, aborting a motion to playfully grab Hongbin's shoulder.  _ Stop that.  _ "Don't make me wait too long." 

He leaves Hongbin at his door, grunting in agreement, and takes the old elevator down to the bottom floor. Well, the last floor that the elevator will reach. Hakyeon has the privilege to know that there are two levels below it, both magic and ward protected dungeons containing demons beyond nightmare. They can be heard now and again in the training grounds, far away echoing wails and screeches that recruits learn to never question.

As the elevator doors rattle open, Hakyeon frowns, his mood dipping as his entire body ripples with the awareness of demon. The grounds are as depressing as ever, stone arches leading left, right, and forward, carefully lit here and there with bare, low-watt bulbs and smelling of demon blood and mold. His boots crunch on the dirt floor and he wrinkles his nose.

There is absolutely no reason for this place to look and smell like a medieval dungeon, except that Jaehwan likes the  _ ambiance _ , says the atmosphere builds character and prepares recruits for the nasty places demons often choose to hole up. Hakyeon could argue that most hunting is done when demons leave their hideouts, but it wouldn't do much good, and he'd hate to deprive the morbid commander his few pleasures in life.

The grounds are active for so early in the morning, Hakyeon notices, as he passes arches that are usually dark. This morning they're lit with magical barriers through which he can see slayers honing their weapon skills against various helpless, trapped demons. Some wail in protest, struggling, the newer ones brought in after older ones expire. Most simply lie prostrate where they're chained, neutral expressions and lifeless eyes. Hakyeon detests it. Let them loose, let them fight for their lives and lose them, handicapped in some way so the recruits have a fair fight—god knows there are enough demons to sustain it. But his opinion doesn't matter as a simple slayer with no seat of power in favor of this archaic, "practical" solution. A solution that produces weaker slayers.

Ah, well. Today he gets his way.  _ His _ slayer won't be inept; never would he let Hongbin face a decent rank demon without proper combat, magic, disposition, and knowledge training. Hongbin will be a force to be reckoned with, his name alone setting demon nerves on edge. Just like Sanghyuk.

No, better than Sanghyuk. He'll make sure Hongbin is safe.

His destination is six cells forward and five cells to the left—the hall looks like it dead ends in a broken training chamber labeled ᴏᴜᴛ ᴏғ ᴏʀᴅᴇʀ, but as Hakyeon opens what looks like a power box and inserts the security code, the back wall parts to reveal a cavity many times larger than the other cells, inlaid with steel doors on either side. He makes sure to text Hongbin the location so he won't have to wander the maze-like grounds looking for him. Walking inside, he inspects the ground and the ceiling, the stability of both doors, turns the magical barrier on and presses his shoulder against it to ensure its durability. These are the only chambers that truly need it.

The precaution is just that—standard procedure that feels wrong to disobey despite the knowledge that it won't be needed. He would never let anything happen to Hongbin, and nothing on this level could best him on his worst day.

Hongbin arrives a half-hour later, after Hakyeon has sat on the chamber floor and read through a demon tome he'd scanned and uploaded to his phone. Hongbin looks only marginally better with cleaner hair pinned to his head and a loose yellow t-shirt sporting a star with eyes that proclaims him ɪɴᴠɪɴᴄɪʙʟᴇ. He lifts one of the sleeves to show off a shiny transparent patch on his bicep.

"This shit doesn't work."

Hakyeon raises an eyebrow. "Withdrawal?"

"Mmm." Hongbin adjusts the ammo straps across his chest and leaves his hands there in an action that looks nervous. He looks around the space, his eyes lingering on one of the doors. "This isn't a normal training cell." 

"No," Hakyeon says, standing up and dusting off the butt of his jeans. "It's a proper training cell, and you'll be properly training with demons today. Are you ready for that?"

Hongbin looks away, shrugs, and purses his lips. "I guess."

"No," Hakyeon says again. "You either are or you aren't. Have you ever fought a demon, Hongbin?" 

Biting his lip, Hongbin looks into Hakyeon's eyes, and Hakyeon feels the soft inspection like goosebumps on his arms. He falters and looks down at Hakyeon's feet. "Fought? No."

"It's alright," Hakyeon says, careful to keep his voice calm, but not overly sympathetic. "You've been studying, haven't you?" 

"Of course." 

Hakyeon rounds Hongbin and stands beside him. "How are you with zero-rank demons?"

Hongbin straightens his shoulders. "I've read all of volume zero."

"And how did you test?"

"Ninety-four percent."

Hakyeon hums, suppressing a smirk. "What happened to that other six percent, Binnie?"

The nickname slips out in his moment of joking familiarity—in truth he'd been calling him that in his mind on and off all week, trying and failing to break the habit. Hakyeon's eyes widen for a second before he can smooth out his expression.

Hongbin cocks his head but keeps his eyes forward. "Uh. I mean, I confused the elemental properties of slime demons and sludge demons. It's the only reason I didn't get a perfect score."

"What are the elemental properties of slime and sludge demons?" 

Hakyeon can see Hongbin roll his eyes from the side. "Slime demons are water-based; sludge demons are earth-based."

"That makes each of them weak to what element?"

"Slimes are weak to fire; sludges are weak to lightning."

"Good." Hakyeon folds his hands behind his back. "How about rank one demons?"

Hongbin grins. His confidence is clear in the lantern-lit profile of his face. "I aced that test."

"Good," Hakyeon says, slamming the button on the wall to make the magical barrier flicker to life. It looks like violet static on a television, distorting the view of the hallway outside as it jumps and rolls, trapping them inside.

"A barrier?" Hongbin asks.

"Protocol," Hakyeon explains, rolling his hand in the air. "Don't think about it."

"Yeah," Hongbin scoffs, lifting his shotgun off his back and over his head. "Just don't think about being trapped in a dark, rotting basement cell with demons trying to eat me."

Hakyeon squints around the chamber. The lighting  _ is _ rather dim, the only illumination coming from lanterns outside the cell. He supposes there's nothing he can do about it, and Hongbin will have to learn to use his dim sight eventually. It might as well be while he's facing rank ones. He's luckier than most; his fire will light up the space, anyway.

"I won't let you die," Hakyeon teases, smiling lightly at Hongbin's frown. "But I won't intervene until it's absolutely necessary. Be careful, please."

"Hakyeon…" 

"Yes?"

Hongbin shifts the gun between his hands and licks his lips. "You always smell like—why do you always smell like demon? Powerful demon, like charcoal."

Hakyeon steps back and presses his hand to his chest. Taekwoon. Of course. Taekwoon must be all over him: the jean jacket he always wears, his boots, his hair, his _skin_. The words swamp Hakyeon with panic, knocking the air from his chest. Yet simmering underneath there is a perverse thrill, something that revels in the idea of being steeped in Taekwoon to the point of scent. That any slayer in the base could have noticed, that Jaehwan _must_ _have_ _noticed_, sets him alight with horror and… pride?

"I have been working on something with—with the commander," Hakyeon lies, mind reaching for anything to explain his lapse in judgment. "Something I can't speak about."

"Of course," Hongbin scoffs, loading his ammo. "Classified, am I right?"

Hakyeon frowns. "It isn't because I don't trust you…" 

"Maybe you shouldn't." Hongbin gives his sharp grin as he snaps his gun shut.

"Yeah, sure." Hakyeon returns the smile, walking to the control box. "Are you ready?"

Hongbin rolls his shoulders and then his neck, taking a deep breath that floats off the walls of the cell. Hakyeon can see him sweating already, dampness collecting at his temples and the bottom of his neck. After leaning into his aiming stance and raising the barrels of his gun, Hongbin nods his answer.

As he inputs the code to open the leftmost door, Hakyeon notices the rumble of his stomach: he is nervous for Hongbin. He can't say he remembers when, where, or how he first fought a demon—side effects of angelwing he supposes—but he does remember the utter terror of standing before a hellspawn for the first time, when they stopped being an academic  _ idea _ and became a tactile threat.

Worse, even, that Hongbin doesn't know what this test is  _ really _ about. 

The steel door rattles and screeches as it rolls up like a garage door. Inside is pitch black. The door rolls to a stop and then nothing; the only sound is the slight electronic hum and jump of the barrier behind them. Hongbin has his shotgun aimed at the opening of the door as he backpedals slowly, his black converse crunching the dirt.

The smell hits first—not the smell of general demon, which permeates down here, but the smell of body odor, not unlike the smell of rotting onions. Hakyeon would know the smell of a dretch anywhere, but he wonders what Hongbin knows, what he remembers.

Hongbin coughs; but his stance doesn't falter. His breath comes louder as he switches to breathing through his mouth. From the mouth of the doorframe the dretch emerges on all fours, launching itself toward Hongbin with a gutteral snarl. Its mottled, sickly flesh hangs from its joints and swings with its velocity.

Hongbin fires on sight; the buckshot blasts the dretch in the face, jerking it back and speckling it with holes. It makes a dumb, hollow sound and scratches at the bleeding holes in its face with long, sharp claws. In a quick, jerking motion Hongbin pumps out the empty cartridges and reloads.

The dretch begins to gallop as if nothing had happened, and visibly startled, Hongbin takes a few steps back toward the other door before he fires again. The dretch leaps at him. The shot hits the demon mid-air, shredding holes in its leathery stomach, but does little to stop its momentum.

It collides with Hongbin, locking its jaw onto his arm and digging into his thighs with its claws. Hongbin yells through gritted teeth as he tries to keep his balance on one foot but topples over, palms reaching backward to brace himself for the fall. Hakyeon winces at the thud of Hongbin's back hitting the ground, kicking up dust. Hongbin coughs as the dretch growls through its bite, thick saliva dripping through the wide gaps in its teeth and onto Hongbin's arm.

Hongbin one-hands his gun by the barrels and slams the stock between its eye and ear. Its teeth release Hongbin's arm to wail. The stock comes down again, harder this time with the force of both arms behind it. The dretch wails a second time and Hongbin hits it a third, dislodging it from his legs.

He squeezes the demon with his thighs, baring the triple slice marks now in his jeans, and barreling his weight into its chest, flops it over, now with him on top.

Through its pores the dretch secretes a thin grey gas. It hits Hongbin's face as he's aiming his final blow. Hakyeon's eyes squint in sympathy.

The full force of the gas cloud hits Hongbin like a wave. He snaps his eyes shut and jerks his head back, gagging. Jumping from his knees to his feet, he stumbles back and around blindly. He's putting space between them, it's the correct thing to do when one needs to regain control--but Hongbin never had control. And that's a losing game from the start. Now Hakyeon has no choice but to make matters worse.

Hakyeon enters the code again and the other door rattles to life. With his nose and mouth shielded by his elbow and watery eyes squinting, Hongbin's back hits the wall and he faces the opening door. 

"What are you doing?" he calls to Hakyeon, sounding choked and deceived.

Hakyeon forces a stern stare. "Pay attention."

The dretch rises. From the second door a stream of fire shoots across the cell, narrowly missing Hongbin's stomach as he whirls to the left. Garbled chittering follows a magmin as it waddles from the second door. Its molten rock skin glows in muted orange tones against the stone walls.

Hongbin makes a frustrated sound and releases his ring of fire. The dretch stumbles backward slowly, clawing at the flames as they rush through its middle. It takes a moment of dead-eyed fumbling, but once the dretch realizes it's unharmed, it brings its focus back to Hongbin. 

The magmin hardly seems to notice the heat at all, continuing to stalk around the edge.

It hadn't been Hakyeon's intention to choose demons immune to Hongbin's element—he hadn't chosen the demons at all, merely the level of the cell. It was just a terrible coincidence. A coincidence, he admitted through his guilt, that helped his means to an end.

Hongbin, looking unsteady on his feet, aims at the dretch and fires. The shot mostly misses; a few bullets pierce its side, but it does nothing to slow its advance. Hongbin shakes his head. He's rattled in more ways than one, and the dretch gas would be making him see double by now.

The dretch is almost upon Hongbin before he thrusts himself away from the wall. The dretch collides with the stone head-first, bouncing off and rubbing its mouth with its long knuckles. Hongbin fires again, hitting the dretch in the knee and making it collapse onto all fours. It would've been a tactical shot—if it's what Hongbin had been aiming for.

But then, maybe not. Because Hongbin now has his back to the magmin. Glowing lava churns slowly between the cracks in its skin, the biggest now spread into a wide smile. Another fireball hits Hongbin square between his shoulder blades.

He screeches, dropping his gun to pull at his shirt, and Hakyeon smells burning hair, watches him flop to the ground on his back and roll the flames out. Damaged leg dragging, the dretch scuttles toward Hongbin and lashes out, clawing brutally across his stomach. Hongbin yells and curls in on himself, arms across his stomach. He kicks out his leg once, twice, three times before it connects to the dretch's face. 

The sounds coming from Hongbin are short and panicked. Hakyeon's fingers run across Lifedrinker's hilt, beyond his shoulder. How long should he let this go on? How long is too long—how short is only a scare instead of a proper lesson? With Sanghyuk he'd never had to deal with emotional instability.

Hongbin rolls away from the magmin's foot before it collides with his face. He jumps up and stumbles away, grabbing his shotgun, and presses his hand against the blood oozing from his stomach.

"Hakyeon!"

He's too panicked, Hakyeon can see it in his wild eyes and the streams of tears down his face. Even if he weren't fire-chosen, this level of emotion would be hard to concentrate through. His eyes go wide at the realization that Hakyeon isn't moving, Hakyeon doesn't intend to help him.

Reaching down to his lower ammo belt, Hongbin shakily loads a different type of ammo than Hakyeon has ever seen him use. He fires again, hurried and jerky. The slug pierces the magmin's forehead, but Hongbin doesn't look away. He doesn't move.

The magmin bursts into blinding white flames and explodes outwards, expelling hot, jagged shards of rock. Screaming, Hongbin wraps his arms around his face and falls backwards. Vulnerable, blind. The dretch crawls, sniveling across the dirt floor towards its wounded prey.

But Hakyeon has seen enough. He runs Lifedrinker's cruel notches at an angle through the thick hide of the dretch's back and out through its lower belly. Squealing, it's effectively pinned to the spot. It only takes one more swing to behead it, for it to fall limp, viscous blood inching toward Hakyeon's shoes.

The cell is dark once again, and Hongbin's jerky intakes of breath seem to reflect at Hakyeon from all sides. Turning his phone's flashlight on, Hakyeon finds Hongbin in the fetal position against the far wall, shaking.

Hakyeon sets his phone face-down on the floor to keep the light. He approaches his pupil slowly, sitting next to him in the dirt and reaching for his arm.

"Don't touch me," Hongbin spits, his voice hard for how softly he's crying.

"Hongbin." Hakyeon can't keep the hurt and guilt from bleeding into his voice. "I'm sorry."

"Why would you do that?" Hongbin sounds shrill, still fairly panicked. His hands grab at the hair above his long ears. "Why would you do that to me?"

Hakyeon doesn't know what to say to that, doesn't think Hongbin is truly looking for an explanation—merely voicing his shock. The truth sounds inexcusable to himself right now anyway; tough love and guidance taken perhaps too far. He hadn't thought Hongbin this fragile, especially after seeing him in the sewers. But perhaps rats, even large ones, are a far cry from lesser demons. Hakyeon had lumped them together as diluted enemies he could slay in his sleep, but to Hongbin there must be a huge divergence. Hakyeon had been careless. 

So Hakyeon sits with him in silence, letting him weep.

A morbid moan, faded from distance, disturbs Hongbin's cries. He wipes his nose on his sleeve—Hakyeon cringes at the idea, despite the demon blood on his own face—and lifts his head to glance around.

"It isn't from this floor," Hakyeon explains. "You're safe."

Hongbin ignores him but his shoulders relax. His fingers investigate the scratches on his leg through the shredded denim; they pull away wet and sticky, shining a deep and glossy red in the white light.

It creeps over Hakyeon how heavy the scent of spilled blood is inside the cell, the mingling of rancid and singed demon blood with the tang of elf blood. It unnerves him that the smell is so commonplace to his own heightened senses as to nearly not exist. But to Hongbin, so neophyte in his own evolved body—oh, how overwhelming it must feel.

"Let me take you to the infirmary."

Hakyeon feels as if he's begging. Maybe even this is from a selfish place, maybe he just wants to be rid of his own guilt. The sharp look Hongbin gives him could cut glass.

"Fuck." Hongbin extends his leg then curls it again. He repeats the curse, louder this time.

"Is that a yes?"

"It's an, 'I can't fucking walk, but I'm not going back there for the second time this week.'"

Hakyeon eyes the wound. It must look worse than it is; Hongbin is swearing, but he's not in the fetal position screaming nonsense. Hakyeon has seen his fair share of that. Experienced it, even. Taekwoon's hands blazing white across his stomach break into his thoughts, unbidden.

"I can dress it," Hakyeon says. He's fairly sure he can. "Let's go back to your dorm. A shower will help."

"A shower won't fix this," Hongbin says. He uses the wall behind him as leverage to get up on one leg.

He wishes Hongbin were wrong. 

  
  


~ * ~

  
  


An injured slayer is common enough that they reach Hongbin's room with little distraction. A few slayers offer help near the lobby, to which Hongbin grunts dismissal. It isn't hard for Hakyeon to help carry his weight, but something about it reminds him of Sanghyuk, and for that reason he stays silent, head down as they make their way to the dorms.

Once inside, Hongbin pushes away from Hakyeon, undressing to his boxers and limping toward the desk chair. He seethes upon bending to sit. Blood has dried running down his leg in lightning patterns, and new blood gushes out upon the flexing of muscle. It won't scar with his regeneration, it isn't that deep, but it's gaping and Hakyeon will still need to stitch it up in order for that regeneration to take place.

A deluxe medkit comes standard in every dorm, and sure enough Hakyeon finds it stashed under the bathroom sink, looking like it's never been used. He grabs the little black backpack and returns to Hongbin, who is putting pressure on the stomach wounds with a towel.

"Let me see," Hakyeon says, stooping between the chair and the desk and hovering his hands over the towel. He will wait for permission, he has forced enough on Hongbin, too much to be sure if he's trusted or not.

But Hongbin lifts the towel and exposes his stomach to him anyway. The wounds are raised and red, flesh torn away, but the bleeding has already slowed and the danger passed. The bite on his arm is shallow due to the dretch's very few blunt teeth, but the bruise is already blooming down his arm.

He cleans and bandages the stomach wounds well enough, and they should be nothing but tender bruising after a good night's sleep. Hongbin attempts to keep stoic under the attention, but every now and then he shivers, a chill much deeper than cold.

As Hakyeon begins to clean the leg wound with precise swipes of antibacterial wipes, he feels that they're both calm enough to have the conversation. 

"I'm sorry, Hongbin."

Hongbin's ears twitch forward and his gaze drops from the wall to Hakyeon. "For what?"

Hakyeon sighs. He deserves the sarcasm, he supposes. "I'm sorry for overwhelming you. I know you feel like I was being unfair, but I was only trying to protect you from-- from worse." Hakyeon swallows to find this throat particularly dry. "Once you're out in the field you won't--I won't be able to protect you. So much can go wrong. So much  _ does _ go wrong."

_ If we don't die to the demons, it's bloodlust, _ he wants to say, but doesn't.  _ If it's not the bloodlust, it's the drugs. _

Hakyeon sterilizes the needle in silence, and he's thankful for it. He tries to push the past away, but it surrounds him like an imploding building. He remembers how carefully he'd clean his IV needles, no matter how shaky he might be from a kill. He can practically feel the tourniquet strapped to his bicep. How easy it was to simply inject angelwing into his veins and forget everything he'd seen and done. He hadn't felt serenity like that before or since.

He craves it still. The simplicity of procuring it is repulsive; he could head to the lobby right now and buy a dose from the bartender. He'd done it once after he got clean—bought an angelwing kit and taken it home, wasted hours on pressing the needle point to his arm, only to bring it away again. He never ended up shooting it, but he hid the dose away under his bed. Knowing it was there helped calm his nerves. It has long since gone rotten, would only make him sick if he tried, but the strange comfort of having it near keeps him from throwing it out.

Addiction is unpredictable that way.

He remembers Sanghyuk's face as he threads the needle. Dark, beautiful eyes, large in terror as Hakyeon had never seen them. Flames obstructing his view. The acrid smell of burning hair and the muffled screams of his lover colliding to tear his heart from his chest and leave it there, burning in hellfire. Even now there is a void where his heart should be, and though he tries to fill it with angelwing, or hunting, or even Hongbin, his efforts are in vain. 

He could have done nothing to stop it, nothing. And yet, if he'd only trained Sanghyuk better…

"You think you understand me."

Hakyeon glances up at Hongbin, whose arms are crossed over his chest, right underneath the star's slotted eyes.

"You don't understand me," Hongbin continues. "You don't have the slightest idea what I think is unfair or overwhelming."

"I'd like to," Hakyeon says, somewhat petulant, keeping his eyes on Hongbin's wound as he begins to sew it closed. He knows he's being scolded for a good reason. Hongbin isn't Sanghyuk.  _ Hongbin isn't Sanghyuk. _

"You approach mentoring like I could be any recruit, the same hollow little soldier waiting for you to fill with your rules and experience. You're so much like my dad. I hate it."

Hakyeon thinks this over. He can't know for sure if the comparison is justified or part projection, but despite this, he thinks he better understands Hongbin's complaint. He'd like his training to feel more personal, like a true mentorship, and less like a trained soldier passing on his knowledge. Perhaps he had taken for granted how easily he and Sanghyuk had gelled. It won't be so easy with Hongbin, he can see now.  _ Hongbin isn't Sanghyuk. _

"I've only mentored one initiate before," Hakyeon says. Is it wise to tell Hongbin so much? He doesn't know. But he's already begun.

"You two are quite different, but I see the same stubborn determination in you. The same way you roll your eyes at me and the same way you're precocious. He wasn't as naturally good at combat as you are, but he was subjected to demons at a young age. He had a ruthless kind of hatred for them, a hunger to search and destroy." Hakyeon pauses, considering more. "I may have assumed you were the same and didn't consider how you might need to be eased into it. I really am so very sorry for what I've done."

Biting his lip, Hongbin also seems to consider something. He looks as if he's sifting through ideas very carefully, and Hakyeon thinks he might have a lot to say. But he would like to finish his own point first.

"Fire elements are notoriously emotional. Not outwardly, like water initiates, but they're hot-headed and impulsive, and they act before they think. I've seen more than one crumble in the heat of battle under the weight of their own thoughts. I wanted to—I was trying to put strain on you to see how you'd handle it in a controlled environment."

Hakyeon takes a heaving breath, stopping to steady the needle before he continues. "My last initiate died. Right in front of me. All I could think—all I can still think—is that if I had done a better job, if I had trained him harder, he would still be here with me."

It feels strange to say it out loud, like it means less somehow outside of him. As if he's offered Hongbin a part of his heart and Hongbin might take it and turn it over in his hands, inspect all of its sides, and decide that it isn't as devastating as it seems after all. As if Hongbin might mirror his inner demons and confirm that everything is his fault.

He ties the stitches off and cleans the wound again, trying not to expect too much out of Hongbin. He certainly won't be as soft and understanding as Taekwoon, who had no right to be that sensitive anyway. He was the demon. His kind has caused this, all of this.

"Why are you mentoring someone if you haven't, like, worked through that shit?"

Hongbin's question is spoken softly but it has a cold edge, it's straight to the point. 

Hakyeon smiles. "I told the commander the same thing, but I'm sure he didn't care." 

Hakyeon is finished nursing Hongbin's wounds, simply sits on the ground before him, legs tucked underneath and palms on his thighs. He used to sit like this at his ancestral tomb, and in a way this feels much the same, confiding in cold hearts and indifferent statues.

"The ritual." Hakyeon shifts, bringing his legs into a more comfortable position. "It's not easy for any slayer, but some of us are affected much more deeply. I was. Everything I ate tasted like demon blood. When I couldn't sleep I heard them calling to me from inside my own head, and when I did sleep I'd have nightmares of becoming them. The commander sees in you the same symptoms that were in me."

"When does it go away?" Hongbin asks. He's looking at the ceiling while his fingers idly play with the bandage across his stomach.

"I can't give you a time frame," Hakyeon says carefully, "but it will get easier. We employ professionals, someone you could talk to—"

"I'm not seeing a shrink, I already told the commander."

Hakyeon hums, shrugging his shoulder and placing the supplies back into the little bag. It's a mistake to refuse treatment, but he's in no place to judge. He made the same mistake along with countless others. It's a daunting idea, to lie your worst nightmares bare for a stranger to see—a stranger that doesn't live with the curse, has never tasted demon blood and lived to suffer the consequences. That's why he's here, he supposes. He isn't trained in psychotherapy, but he's lived the nightmare, and he's more empathetic than most.

"What were your nightmares like?" Hongbin asks.

"Fragmented." Hakyeon zips the backpack and sets it on the desk. "They didn't make sense, but they were awful all the same. The feeling of grinding human bone with my teeth was a recurring theme. I would grow eyes all over my body and cry. My skin would burn, scorch until it was red and raw, but I wouldn't die. I was always alone, vast empty spaces with nothing but myself and my misery."

"I'm never alone," Hongbin says. It's mumbled like he doesn't quite want Hakyeon to hear it. "I wish I were. I dream about killing my family, finding them and tearing their flesh from bone. The kids always taste the best. That's the worst part, that I enjoy it, that I'm not horrified until I wake up."

Hakyeon finds Hongbin's hand, tentatively places his own on top of it. His skin is warm. To Hakyeon's surprise, he doesn't move, doesn't even flinch.

"But you  _ are _ horrified. It's the demon blood that dreams of hurting people, not you. It's inside of you, but it isn't a part of you."

"Is there a difference?"

"It's a weapon, the best one you've got, no matter how good your aim is." Hakyeon takes back his hand. "As long as you're using it to fight evil, then yes, it's the difference that matters."

"You really believe that, huh."

It's worded like a question, but there is no question in Hongbin's voice, merely an observation. Does he believe it, though? It used to be such a given, that demons were purely evil and demonslayers the good that drove them to extinction. But Hakyeon has met his share of awful slayers, and then Taekwoon—

Hongbin inspects the stitched wound in his thigh. He reaches to touch it, but Hakyeon slaps his hand away.

"Don't touch it," Hakyeon says. "You'll get it infected."

"But it itches," Hongbin whines.

"Yes." Hakyeon stands, grabs the pack to put it back into the bathroom. "It'll do that until it's healed."

He comes back into the room with a towel. Hongbin has shifted toward him.

"I want to tell you what happened at my initiation." Hongbin looks uncomfortable inside and out, and Hakyeon doesn't think it's the itching. He's pouting the words as he speaks them. "But I'm not ready yet."

"I'll be here when you're ready." 

Hakyeon looks at the time on his phone. It's early afternoon still, but he's anxious to return to Taekwoon.

He lies the towel in Hongbin's lap and steers the conversation toward recovery. Hongbin should shower, let the hot water soothe him. He's to clean all his wounds and bandages again tonight before he sleeps, but by tomorrow morning they should be healed enough to go without. Hakyeon is only a call away if he has any questions.

He leaves the base with the unnerving knowledge that he's restlessly returning home to a demon. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for reading 🙇♂️ i promise not to make you wait another ten months for the rest

**Author's Note:**

> comments and kudos are appreciated, and i hope you enjoy~
> 
> [twitter](http://twitter.com/vampiresanghyuk)


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